PS 3525 
.P48 K6 
1918 WAR DEPARTMENT 

Copy 1 :e edition number 9. 



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I THE KNAVE S MOVE 



2 1 2 A Play in One Act 

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P K^ C 



ja «;: •-; 

t.-^ & BY 

^1 >» WILLIAM BROWN MALONEY 



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The use of this piece by courtesy of the Author. 
Dramatic Rights by courtesy of Sanger and Jordan 



Copyright, 1918, By William Brown Maloney 



WASHINGTON 

Commission on Training Camp Activities 

Department of Dramatic Activities Among the 

Soldiers. 

1918. 






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)C!.D 5 518 • 



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r ^^ Nk^ ^^THE KNAVE'S MOVE'' 
^ ^ By 

V^rt WILLIAM BEOWN MALONEY 

THE CAST 

John Blakely, who has made politics a business. 

Catherine Blakely, his daughter. 

John Blakely, Jr., his son. 

''Bull'' Edwards, an upper office man. 

Jimmy Bradstreet, alias ''The Ghost." 

Note — If the part of Catherine Blakely, daughter, 
is too difficult to cast, it is suggested that the 
part be changed to an older brother of John 
Blakely, Jr. 

Time: The night before election. 

Place: The back room of "The Koost," Blakely 's 
closed saloon. 

Scene : The room is square. Its furnishings con- 
sist of six nondescript chairs, an old-fashioned 
round card-table with a green haize top. On 
the upstage side of the table stands a high- 
hack leather-covered office chair. The en- 
trance to the room is in the hack wall. 
There are two windows in this wall, one on 
each side of the door. Their green shades are 
down. The door opens on stage and to the 
right. There is another door in the left wall, 
hut it is a hlind, the wall having heen hoarded 
up when Blakely sold ''The Roost.'' As the 
curtain rises, Blakely is discovered in the hig 
leather chair playing solitaire. His high- 
crowned derhy hat is tilted hack and a hig 
hlack, unlighted cigar is hanging from the cor- 
ner of his mouth. His hrow knits and he 
throws down the cards with an expression of 
disgust, sighs heavily, and stares straight 
ahead of him, rolling the cigar from one cor- 
3 



ner of his mouth to the other. The door opens 
noiselessly and the face of Bradstreet appears. 
His eyes search the room furtively as he 
stealthily enters. He closes the door and glides 
down stage to Blakely^s left side. He glances 
over Blakely's shoulder, studying the cards. 

Brad. Move the knave — and it's your game. 

Blake. {As if answering his own thought) The 
knave — the knave of hearts. Of course, that's the 
move. {Blake, picks up a card on the left and 
moves it to a pile on the right). 

Brad. Now, the game's yours. Boss. {Blake, 
discovers Brad.'s hand pointing over his shoulder. 
He starts, drops the card, pushes back his chair 
and rises in surprise. Brad, ynoves a step to the 
right, chuckling). 

Blake. Brad ! Bradstreet ! How — how did you 
get in here? {Blake, runs a hand across his brow 
as if coming out of a trance. He glances around 
the room, and at the door). 

Brad. {Laughing) The door. 

Blake. The door was locked. I locked it my- 
self. 

Brad. {With a note of pride) Locked doors 
are a little specialty of mine — or used to be. 

Blake. I didn't hear you come in. {Blake, 
moves around his chair to the left side of the table. 
Brad, comes to center). 

Brad. I couldn't help trying to see if I'd for- 
gotten how. {His eyes are never still. He moves 
like a cat, ever on the alert, ever ready to spring, 
ever wary and prepared, as if to ward off an at^ 
tack from behind) I knew you were alone or I 
wouldn't have come in — the way I did. I've been 
piping your door from across the street for an 
hour. 

T>r.AKE. {Anxiously) You're not in trouble? 

I'rad. No. Except tryin' to be good's enough 

4 



trouble for most people. 

Blake. When did you get out? 

Brad. This morning. {He takes a cigarette 
from a silver case and lights it), 

Blake. I tried hard to spring you; tried every 
way I knew to make that reform district attorney 
and the police let up poundin' you. 

Brad. I know — everything you did for me. I 
got it all in here. {He strikes Ms hreast) I got a 
lot in here. 

Blake. I told 'em you 'd turned a new leaf, 
and 

Brad. {Cynically) And they said it had blown 
back again. 

Blake. I told 'em you'd been straight a long 
time: that you'd given me your word to be on the 
level; that all you needed was a chance to go 
straight. 

Brad. And they laughed at you — called me a 
man-killer and said leopards don't change their 
spots. Oh, I know. {Brad, spits a whijf of smoke 
at the air), 

Blake. But my pull-rope was broken. {Pause) 
They're figgerin' in this town, Jimmy, that John 
Biakely's a back number. 

Brad. Buck up. It's only a new deal — only a 
new deal. It's the same old deck of cards. It 
won't last long. These professional reformers can't 
play together. They're always gummin' their own 
cards. 

Blake. {Bitterly) It's come to a helluva turn 
when a man John Blakely'U stand for has to do 
six months for smashin' a flat-footed cop in the 
smeller. Gee, how the ranks fall away from a man 
when they think he 's lost his grip ! 

Brad. That 's why I slipped in to-night. I heard 
you'd closed the saloon and I didn't know what 
was up. 

5 



Blake. {Indicating the left) I put the lock on 
The Roost yesterday morning — {Blake, paces to 
and fro nervously) — and I don't seem to fit in the 
new house up town. 

Brad. (Anxiously) They ain't cleaned you up? 
It ain't money you need? 

Blake. No. Money? Bah! Money's the sur- 
est thing I got. I shut up the saloon for my little 
girl's sake. 

Brad. I getcha. I know — women's funny about 
things. She can't stand the way the papers roasts 
you. 

Blake. {Pounding the table) If it wasn't for 
the boy and the girl, I'd say, to hell with the 
papers and the reformers. When the kiddies were 
little I didn't give a damn what anybody said, but 
now they're grown up an' it's spoilin' their lives. 
What I am an' all I got is a curse to 'em. They're 
John Blakely's kids. They can't get away from 
that — it follows 'em. They're John Blakely's chil- 
dren — saloonkeeper, political crook — grafter ! 

Brad. Buck up, John ! You take it too much to 
heart. Why, you're 

Blake. I'm what I said. What good's the 
money ? It can buy everything, but the things you 
want most. It put the boy in college and — broke 
his heart. He couldn't stand it any longer. He's 
come back home broken down in health an' no 
heart in life — an' him not yet twenty. 

Brad. Damn the college! He ain't goin' to sell 
books or life insurance for a livin'. 

Blake. I know, but that ain't it. He wants to 
be something better than I am, an' I want him to 
be. He's broken. He's so sick that I've got to 
send him out West. 

Brad. {Startled) Out West? 

Blake. Yes. 

Brad. I getcha. 



I 



Blake. The doctors say that's where he's got 
to go if I don't want to lose him. The girl's for 
all of us goin' together. 

Brad. That's tough, John. 

Blake. I suppose I've done some pretty rough 
things in my time, but I never took anything but 
clean money. 

Brad. That's straight. 

Blake. Now they're sayin' I took dirty money. 

Brad. (Fiercely) It's a lie! Who's sayin' it? 

Blake. Oh, that reform leader— that young law- 
yer feller, Simpson. Eight now he's makin' an- 
other ''brass-check" speech up in the park. 

Brad. I 'd kill a man it he said I was low enough 
to take that kind of graft. 

Blake. ( With a shudder) Good God ! I couldn 't 
do that. Besides, killin' doesn't prove anything. 
I'd rather be dead myself than kill a man. Simp- 
son's just young — he's put up to it by the gang 
of psalm-singers behind him. (Pause) Kill? No, 
no, no. My kids have got to live down enough as 
it is. 

Brad. (Starting as if to go) I'll croak him 
for you. 

Blake. (Commandingly) Jim! 

Brad. I know how to shut him up. 

Blake. (Fiercely) No — no you don't! 

Brad. I'll get him while he's makin' his lying 
spiel. 

Blake. (Catching Brad.) No, you won't. 
You've got to give me your word right now. 

Brad. (Freeing hiynself) I ain't no angel. 
Anybody hurts my friends, hurts me. That's some- 
thing a good many o' my betters can't say. 

Blake. (Commandingly) You're not goin' to 
lift a hand against him or any other man. You've 
got to give me your word right now. You said 
you wanted to do something for me — an' now's 

7 



your chanct. 

Brad. You ain't fair, John. D'you think I'm 
goin' to be shot down like a dog by the first cow- 
ardly bull or crook that comes along? 

Blake. No, but by God, you've got to give me 
your word not to lift your hand against any man 
— except to save your own life. I've got a right 
to ask this. If it hadn't been for me — you'd have 
been railroaded to the chair five years ago ! 

Brad. {Lowering his gaze) You're right. I 
know — they had me framed for the big leap. 
(Pause) You've never steered anyway except 
right, Boss. You 've been a friend when every other 
hand's been against me. {He holds out his right 

hand) I'll {There is a quick, nervous knock 

at the door. Brad, is instantly on the alert. He 
turns sharply toward the door and bends his head 
as knocking continues). 

Blake. I don't want to be bothered to-night. 

Brad. {In a whisper) That's a woman knock- 
ing. 

Blake. How do you know? 

Brad. Take it from me. {The knocking con- 
tinues). 

Blake. See who it is, anyway. Maybe it's some 
poor devil I can help. 

Brad. I getcha. 

{Brad, glides to the door and opens it, conceal- 
ing himself as he does so. Catherine Blakely en- 
ters. Brad, recognizes her and closes the door 
quickly. He removes his hat). 

Blake. {Astounded) Catherine! {His arms 
go out to her) Why — what are you doing here? 
{He leads her down right). 

Catherine. Where is John? 

Blake. I — I 

Catherine. Haven't you heard from him? 

Blake. No. What — what's the matter, Cather- 

8 



me ? 

Catherine. John — he telephoned home fifteen 
minutes ago. He asked for you. I could hardly 
understand him. He talked like a crazy man. I 
told him he would find you here — in the back room 
of the saloon. He said I'd never see him again. 
{Blake, moves a step to the right) Oh, father, 
something has happened! I know it. {She sobs, 
puts her hands on her father's shoulders and 
searches his face). 

Blake. No, no, daughter. What could have 
happened? {Catherine crosses to left). 

Catherine. I know something has happened. I 
feel it. 

Blake. Calm yourself, Catherine. Certainly 
nothing has happened. {He starts across stage to 
her) . 

Catherine. Oh, yes, it has. I know it. I feel 

it — I {She discovers Brad. She shrinks) That 

man! Oh! {She covers her face and shudders. 

Brad, lowers his head) Father, father {Brad. 

turns to go). 

Blake. Don't go. {To Catherine) That's all 
right, daughter. That's Bradstreet, my friend. 

Catherine. A — a friend ? No, no ! 

Blake. A good friend ! 

Catherine. No, no, don't say that ! He— he has 
haunted me ever since he killed that man! {She 
sohs. Blake, takes her in his arms) Oh, father, 
that is the man the papers call The Ghost. They 
say he is always around when some one is killed. 
{Brad, opens the door to go out an^ as he does so 
John Blakely, Jr., staggers in, bareheaded and 
breast heaving. Brad, steps behind the door, and 
as he does so, a heavy Derringer drops out of his 
sleeve into his right hand. He recognizes John and 
closes the door quickly). 

John. {Gasping) Father, father. {Blake, and 

9 



Catherine start toward the boy, who leans against 
the table for support), 

Catherine. John, John! 

Blake. My boy, my boy ! What is it ? 

John. They're after me. They're after me. 
(He glances over his shoulder apprehensively and 
discovers Brad, standing at the door) It's all right. 
Ill go with you. Ill go with you. {Brad, moves 
toward him) Here it is. {John takes a pistol 
from his coat pocket and hands it to Brad,, who 
smells it and with a shake of his head drops it in 
his side pocket). 

Blake. That's Bradstreet, John. Don't be 
afraid. Tell me what's happened, boy. What's 
happened ? 

John. The police! {Brad, leaps backward 

to the door and stands with his back to it, the Der- 
ringer dropping again from his sleeve), 

Blake. The police? 

Catherine. John — John — oh, God, what does 
he mean? 

John. I — I — killed 

Blake. Killed! Killed who? 

John. Simpson. {A low whistle escapes Brad, 
Blake, recoils with his hands over his eyes, Cath- 
e7^ine recoils). 

Brad. Simpson? {John nods slowly in the af- 
firmative), 

John. Yes. 

Blake. My, God, no! 

Catherine. No — no — no! Don't you believe 
him ! He didn 't — he couldn 't ! 

John. Father — listen — I couldn't help it. I 
heard him say — say — oh, God, everything went 
black before me, and then I shot him. But I don't 
care ! I don 't care ! The dog ! He lied — he lied ! 
My father never took money from the women in 
the street! Did he? Did he? It was a lie! A 

10 



lie ! (The hoy seems to be choking as he sinks into 
his father's chair) . 

Catherine. My mother in Heaven, take us to 
you. {Brad, comes down stage. She confronts 
him) Stand back ! Oh, you murderer ! You man- 
killer! Don't come near him! {To her father) 
This is what you have done! — dragged him down 
— your own son — to this — made a murderer of him ! 
{Blake, recoils. Brad, shrinks up stage), 

Blake. Catherine ! 

Catherine. A murderer of him ! An outcast of 
him like that man — {indicates Brad.) — a ghost! — a 
thing of the night and dark places! 

Blake. Don't, daughter — please don't say those 
things. 

Catherine. It's the truth! {Blake covers his 
face ), It 's the truth ! 

John. Don't, Catherine — don't! He's not to 
blame. I did it. {He waves her aside). When I 
heard that man stand up before that mob in the 
park and draw a picture of a crook — a grafter — 
an unspeakable thing who preyed upon unfortunate 
women — and — and call that thing my father — and 
I heard the mob shout and cheer — and I knew the 
big white side of him — and — and knew the lie he 
was passing — it was more than I could stand. 
Daddy, I — I — had to do it ! I had to do it ! I had 
the pistol — the one you gave me to take out West. 
Simpson said — he said — he said — '^That's Blake- 
ly's price — a woman's soul!" And he threw a 
brass check in the air. The crowd cheered and 
shouted and — and — I shot. There were people 
pushing every way. The crowd swept me away, 
and I — I ran. I telephoned from somewhere to 
you, Catherine — didn 't I ? And then I came here. 
It was a lie! — {choking) — wasn't it, Daddy? 
Wasn't it? 

Blake. Yes. A lie — a damned lie. I never 

11 



could have looked my children in the face if it was 
true. 

John. Then, let them take me. 1 11 — 1 11 go 

Catherine. No — no — you can't! you mustn't! 
Father, you must save him. 

Blake. You can't let 'em take you. They'd 
crucify you, boy. You're John Blakely's son. 
That's enough to hang you without a trial. 

Brad. You wouldn't stand a yellow dog's chanct 
with these reformers. 

John. Let 'em have me. I'll give myself up. 
I don't care if I have to give my life up for it. 
I'm tired of it all, anyway. {He starts as if to go 
to the door, staggers, and is about to fall when 
Blake, catches him and seats him in the leather- 
covered chair. The knock of a heavy fist sounds 
at the door. The boy's head falls over in a faint), 

Catherine. He's fainted! {She leans over 
him) . 

Brad. The bulls! {He leaps from the door, de- 
fensively. The Derringer is in his right hand). 

Blake. God, Brad — what can I do? {The heavy 
fist knocks again). 

Edwards. {Off stage) In the name of the law, 
open this door! 

Catherine. {Sobbing) Save him, father! They 
can 't have him ! They can 't ! He 's only a boy — a 
little boy — all we have. You 

Brad. Give me a chanct to think — hard — hard. 
{Brad, presses his left hand to his brow tensely, his 
eyes searching the room. He starts as he sees the 
door in the left wall) Where does this lead? 

Blake. It's a blind. Boarded up yesterday 
when I sold the saloon. {Brad, glides to the table 
down stage. Again the knock is heard and the 
knob is rattled). 

Edwards. {Off stage) Open this door, in the 
name of the law. 

12 



Brad. A rat trap ! {His eyes are everywhere at 
once. They rest on the hoy for a second. He 
starts) That boy's got to have a hat on. {He 
jams Ms own hat on John's head and, facing down 
stage, rips open his collar and dishevels Ms hair. 
He tears open his vest and darts up stage to the 
door) . 

Blake. What are you doin'? Goin' to let those 
wolves in here for my boy? {Blake, starts toward 
Brad.) 

Brad. It's the only thing left to do. {He swings 
open the door, concealing himself as he does so. 
Edwards enters, carrying a soft gray felt hat in his 
left hand and a pistol in Ms right hand. He does 
not discover Brad., who closes the door noiselessly 
behind him). 

Edwards. {In surprise) Why — why, I thought 
you'd sold out. {He glances over his shoulder and 
discovers Brad. He hacks to the left a step, cover- 
ing Brad., whose chest is heaving as if he had heen 
running hard and fast) The Ghost! I thought 
you were 

Brad. I got out this morning- 



Edwards. There was a shooting up in the park, 
a while ago, Mr. Blakely. The man who did it 
made his getaway in this block. {Edivards discov- 
ers the unconscious hoy in the chair). 

Blake. Well, what 'd you think you 'd find here ? 
{Edwards' gaze meets Blake.' s triumphantly and 
then shifts to the hoy). 

Edwards. I found this hat outside the door. 
Look at it. Ever see it before? {He tosses the hat 
across the tahle) Recognize the initials? 

Blake. {Starting) No. {Catherine sohs) ^'J. — 
B." 

Catherine. Oh, father 

Edwards. It ain't your father's hat, Miss. 

Brad. No — it's mine. {Catherine starts). 



Blake. Brad, you can't — you didn't 

Brad. I couldn't stay straight. It ain't in a 
crook. 

Edwards. {Doubtfully) The hat 

Brad. I getcha. I know you can 't believe I was 
ever boob enough to let 'em put my initials in my 
lid, but I did, all right — Jimmy Bradstreet — me, 
''J. B." Here's the cannon. {He takes John^s 
pistol from Ms pocket and hands it to Edwards, 
who smells it. Brad, takes the hat from Blake) 
I was after a stool-pigeon of yours up in the park, 
Edwards — not the reform guy. I'm sorry I pilled 
him. Is — is he dead ? 

Edwards. No — he isn't. A wallet in his pocket 
stopped the bullet. {Blake, starts), 

Blake. Thank God ! 

Edwards. Will you come along without a fight ? 

Brad. I will. I'm ready. I've caused enough 
trouble around here to-night — frightened the young 
lady and the sick boy so he's fainted. 

Blake. No — no, Brad! You 

Brad. What's the difference? I'm a crook, or 
that's my label. I'm lucky not to be goin' to the 
chair — not to have gone long ago. 

Edwards. You betcher are. 

Brad. When you begin your line crooked it's 
never a straight line. {He looks down at the hoy) 
You've got to begin straight or the chances are all 
against you. 

Blake. You're the straightest man I know. Brad, 
but, good God, man! — you can't — I can't let 

Brad. It's all right. Boss. You can help me 
later, but I'd better be going along now. 

Edwards. Yes, you come along. Sorry {he 

catches Brad, quickly) Stick up your hooks, there. 
{Brad, raises his hands and Edwards searches him 
without result) Only one gun? 

Brad. That's all. 

14 



Edwards. You always carried two. 

Brad. I Ve reformed. 

Edwards. Come on, then. 

Blake. You can't take Mm. Brad never shot 
that man. I know he didn't. I — I 

Catherine. Father ! 

Brad. No use your bluffln', John. He's got me 
right. You're a good friend. I had the gun. He 
found my hat; the man who did it's here. You 
didn't do it. Miss Catherine didn't do it — the boy 
— why, he's so sick he can't lift his head. See, he's 
fainting again. {John moves in the chair and tries 
to sit up, hut faintness overcomes him. Catherine 
puts her arm around him and looks at Brad, ap- 
pealingly), 

Catherine. Oh, Mr. Bradstreet. I'm so sorry 
—I— I 

Blake. Let me have a minute with Bradstreet. 
Take my word, it'll be all right. 

Edwards. {Hesitating) All right, Boss. Your 
word's good enough. {He glances around the 
room) There's no getaway here. {Exit Edwards), 

Blake. Good God, Brad! — this is terrible. It's 
cowardly for me to let you do it. I can't — the boy 
wouldn't 

Brad. It would kill him to go up, John. He 
needn't know it. Get him out of town to-night. I 
owe my life to you, and this is only a little thing. 

Here {He pulls up his right coat sleeve and 

unfastens the Derringer, which is hanging there 
by a garter) I mustn't be caught with this. A 
turn more or less doesn't count with a record like 
mine — but it would finish him. He's clean and 
straight — I 'm only a crook. 

Catherine. No, no ! — forgive all I said. You're 
brave — true! What can I do? Oh, the horror of 
it! 

Brad. Little lady, this is the straightest, best 
15 



thing IVe ever done in my life. You mustn't be 
cut up about my doing this. It'll start me right 
with myself again. I'll be a better man for doing 
what you and John Blakely call brave. I— I 

Edwards. (Opening the door) Come on, you! 
{The boy lifts Ms head and opens his eyes. Blake, 
stands swaying. Catherine sinks to her knees, soh- 
hing, at the boy's side). 

Brad. Coming. iiiiiS«Li^iU™S 



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